Devil's Trap
by Super Widget
Summary: "I will have Hell and Purgatory, and Heaven and Earth and whatever's in between. And you will bow before me like it was always meant to be. You took the throne away from me and I will take it back." In a race against time, the Winchesters find themselves facing a foe they are simply no match for. Set in the middle of season 6. Dean, Sam and OC.
1. The Case

_**Author's note: Okay, this chapter is a bit slow but it will pick up in the next one.**_

Dean and Sam were on the road heading north through Wisconsin after a particularly gruelling case.

"I _hate _witches," said Dean, his words dripping with every ounce of distaste. He had swept the car, the luggage, even his pockets for hex bags, and even though the search had turned up clean he was still paranoid.

"Relax," Sam soothed from the passenger seat, "It's over now. I think we deserve a little down time."

"Damn straight," Dean retorted, loosening his grip on the steering wheel, "The next motel we go to better have one of those vibrating beds."

A phone rang and Sam turned down the radio while he answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

Dean glanced at his brother trying to determine who the caller was. Bobby maybe?

"No, why?" Sam frowned.

Yep, it was Bobby. Dean recognised that frown all too well.

"Alright, we'll check it out." Sam hung up.

"Let me guess," Dean sighed.

"Bobby has another case for us," Sam replied, his tone indicating he was less than thrilled, "Turn the car around, we're heading to Illinois."

Sam explained that Bobby had picked up some unusual activity that started four months ago with the slaughter of a large family in Chicago and resulting in reports of hordes of demons moving south through the state. Though the police investigation is still underway there had been no progress on the case.

"And one of the family members is missing," added Sam.

"Huh," Dean replied thoughtfully, "Think a demon possessed him forcing him to slaughter his whole family?"

"It's a she, and yes that's what I thought too. It's the rest of it that doesn't make sense."

"Any pattern on where these hordes are going?"

"Well Bobby said the places they're cropping up surround Route 55."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think demons used the highway," he said.

"Like I said, doesn't make sense," replied Sam, "But I'm thinking it gives us a good lead. We could cut down through Route 39 and meet them halfway."

"Sounds like a plan," said Dean, turning the radio up again.

It wasn't a very good plan. The brothers were unable to accurately predict where the demons were going to show up at any one time and so they spent the following week wandering aimlessly through towns off Route 55. They were waiting to hear more information from Bobby but he was slow to get back to boys.

After one hard day of pretending to be tourists, Dean and Sam took a break in a local diner to wind down and discuss the case. A friendly waitress greeted them, taking their orders. She winked at Dean who requested a double bacon cheese burger, while Sam ordered a sandwich and coffee.

"I kinda like this town," Dean approved as he watched the waitress walk away.

"I don't," Sam muttered, flipping open his laptop, "Feels like we're on a wild goose chase here."

"You think Bobby could have been wrong about this one?" Dean queried, scanning the diner's interior.

"Not _wrong_, just… not informed enough."

"You seem cranky today, Sammy," Dean observed.

Sam glanced up over the top of his laptop, his small dark eyes weary.

"I'm fine," he replied mechanically, "I just had a rough night's sleep."

Dean was concerned about his brother. It wasn't long ago that his soul was still locked in Lucifer's cage. Though he did prefer soulful Sam over soulless Sam, he wondered how long it would take before the wall protecting him from his memories of hell would deteriorate.

The waitress returned with their orders and the bill with a phone number scribbled on it. Dean gave the waitress a roguish smile and she smiled warmly in return.

"Hey, can I see that leaflet?" Sam interrupted the moment, pointing to the diner's billboard.

"Oh sure!" the waitress replied. She snatched the page and handed it to Sam. "So sad," she said, "Police say the kidnappers murdered her whole family before taking her."

Sam showed the page to Dean. It was a missing persons poster featuring a girl who was maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She had pretty features, light brown hair and pale skin.

"Have there been any sightings?" Sam inquired.

"One or two I think," the waitress replied, "But the police haven't been able to track her since."

Sam nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

"Enjoy your meal!"

Dean waited until the waitress was out of earshot before he muttered, "You think you can punch up anything on those sightings?"

"Way ahead of you," Sam replied, typing loudly with his laptop.

Dean took a bite out of his burger, rolling his eyes at the cheesy, bacony deliciousness that filled his mouth.

"Ok, the last sighting was a few towns over," said Sam, turning his screen around for Dean to see, "The witness said he saw the girl being chased down an alleyway by another man, but when he pursued to help they had both seemed to vanish."

Dean chewed pensively, the gears in his head grinding lazily.

"Yeah, I got nothing," he said eventually, "This could be just a normal scumbag human problem and the demon hordes thing could have nothing to do with the girl."

"Dean!" Sam snapped quietly, staring over the top of his head.

Dean glanced over his shoulder following his gaze. He froze as he noticed a woman sitting at the counter with demon black eyes. The demon seemed not to have detected the brothers and she calmly stood and proceeded to leave the diner. The brothers watched her closely as she crossed the road and accompanied another man who also flashed demon black.

"What the-?" Dean's face creased in puzzlement as another demon emerged from around a corner, following the other two. Three more demons came from seemingly nowhere and headed in the same direction.

"Is there a party going on that we're not invited to?" said Dean.

"Only one way to find out, I guess," Sam replied, snapping his laptop shut.


	2. Blood and Ice

As the boys loaded up their hunting gear from the boot of the car, Sam began to snap out of his foul humour. The thought of the fragile wall in his head had been haunting him ever since he learned about it. The last few days of aimless demon hunting had made him irritable and it only left room in his mind to worry about his mental health. Seeing these demons on the move now meant that he could focus his energy on hunting. He definitely needed the distraction.

Dean discretely tucked the sawn-off shotgun beneath his coat while Sam grabbed a couple of bottles of holy water, salt and Ruby's knife. They exchanged glances of silent acknowledgement and crossed the street in pursuit of the demons. There were perhaps half a dozen of them. They didn't all walk in line with each other but it was obvious they were all heading for the same destination. The brothers followed cautiously, keeping a safe distance so as not to be noticed.

After a couple of blocks, they reached an old abandoned apartment building. The structure's exterior was blackened from a past fire and the windows were glassless. Dean and Sam waited until all the demons were inside before they approached the building. They flanked the entryway, Sam straining to hear what the demons were saying to each other.

"-upstairs - in here somewhere-" They were just fragments of the demons' mutterings but Sam was starting to get the picture. They were looking for something. Slowly he peered around the corner. As the last demon disappeared up the naked concrete stairs he gave Dean a nod indicating go time. The brothers entered in unison, Dean with the shotgun cocked, Sam with the knife before him. Years of hunting together had synced these boys' skills, enabling them to plan an ambush almost telepathically. They knew each other's moves, expressions and body language better than anyone and that was what made the Winchesters an exceptional team.

Suddenly, Sam was grabbed from behind, rough arms slipping under his and locking around the back of his neck.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, shotgun at the ready.

Sam threw his arms straight up, kicking his legs out so that his weight allowed him to slip through his assailant's grip. He landed painfully as his coccyx hit the hard concrete floor. Dean took no time to hesitate, pulling the trigger immediately and sending two shells of rock salt to the demon's face. Sam, trying to ignore the breathtaking agony at the base of his spine, swerved on his knees, driving the knife into the demon's gut. Orange light flashed from the demon's eyes, mouth and knife wound before it collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Sam rose to his feet, shaking fragments of rock salt from his floppy brown hair.

"Company," snapped Dean, indicating the other demons that were hurrying down the stairs to join the commotion.

There were two demons simultaneously aiming for Sam. Sam grabbed a bottle of holy water from his coat, untwisting the cap with his teeth. He drove the knife into the female demon while dowsing the other male with holy water. Both creatures screamed in anguish. In one swift movement, Sam yanked the knife from the dead demon's chest and the tip of the blade met his second assailant as it lunged forward to attack him.

Dean was holding his own, but the shotgun did little more than temporarily slow down the hell spawn. Sam marched toward him, effortlessly slicing the knife through the throat of the demon closest. There were now two demons left, one male, one female. As Dean raised his shotgun he was violently swept across the bare, blackened room and was pinned to the wall by an invisible force. It took that fraction of a second for the female to take advantage of Sam's distraction and she knocked him to the ground, clutching his throat with impossibly strong hands. The knife went skittering across the room and Sam was completely defenceless.

"Sammy!" yelled Dean, who struggled futilely against the demon's telepathic grip.

The female smiled wickedly at Sam, staring down at him with infinitely black eyes. Sam was starting to feel light headed, his lungs coughing in painful spasms in an attempt suck in air. He was beginning to see stars and he knew he was going to die…and then something happened. The grip on his throat was released and the demon was screaming, her back arched in agony as orange lightening flickered from her facial orifices. Sam rolled over on his front gasping air into his painful lungs. The final demon escaped its vessel in a train of black smoke and Dean fell heavily to the ground. It took a moment for Sam to fully gather his bearings.

"You ok, Sammy?" Dean asked wearily.

"Yeah," Sam coughed, "What the hell just happened?"

Dean nodded at something behind Sam. Rolling back, Sam found himself facing a girl clutching his knife and frozen in terror.

"I know you," said Sam, studying the girl's face. It was the girl from the missing persons leaflet back at the diner, the girl with the murdered family. Her photo portrayed her as a bit of a Plain Jane but she looked very different in reality. Her lank hair and M-shaped lips were coloured blood red and contrasted sharply against her ice blue eyes and snow white skin. She wore a red checked shirt, with forest-green skinny jeans and black, studded ankle boots. She appeared quite striking in comparison to the photo, but Sam thought that maybe this was her disguise…maybe she wanted to stay missing.

"You're…not a demon," Sam assumed, rising to his feet.

The girl shook her head anxiously.

"Can I have my knife back?" Sam held out a hand. The girl raised the knife defensively.

"Are you going to kill me?" her voice quivered with a soft Australian accent.

"You just saved me and my brother's lives," Sam reassured, "We're not going to kill you."

She reluctantly complied, handing back the knife.

"I'm Sam. That's my brother, Dean." Sam gestured towards Dean who had picked himself up and was inspecting his shotgun for damage.

"I'm Trish," the girl replied shyly.

"Well, Trish, would you mind telling us what's going on?" Sam asked gently.

At that point, the girl's expression switched from fear to exasperation.

"Tell _you_ what's going on?" she cried, surprising the brothers, "Why don't _you _tell _me _what's going on? I've had these assholes chasing me for months! They killed my whole family and they won't stop until I'm dead too! Do you know how many towns I've run through, how many disguises I've worn? I had to pretend to be a boy for two whole weeks! And then you two clowns show up to tango with these douche bags, and you're asking _me _questions?"

Sam and Dean exchanged awkward glances. They were now more confused about this case than before.

"Look, we just want to help," Sam spoke calmly, "Anything you can tell us about how this all started will help us to help you."

Trish's features softened and she heaved a tired sigh.

"What are you, like, demon slayers or something?" she asked jadedly.

"Something like that," Dean replied, "We can keep you safe, but we need to have a very long chat first."

"Where can we go where she can be safe?" Sam interjected, "That last demon that escaped could be summoning an entire brigade by now."

"Well first, we get the hell out of here. I ain't waiting for no frickin' demon brigade to come along. Then we head straight to Bobby's bunker. Those sons of bitches can't touch her there."

"Hmph, good call," Sam nodded, wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Sam was initially concerned about Trish's willingness to trust Dean and himself, but she probably figured they were the only good thing she had going on over the last four months. Sam could tell she was exhausted and she just wanted the demon attacks to stop. He paused and smiled to himself. It was good to have a soul again.

The boys loaded up the car and headed out of state, taking the shortest route to Bobby's. Trish sat in the backseat, mostly in silence while Dean explained the concept of hunters, demons and other things that go bump in the night. The brother's asked their new travelling companion several questions about her experience with the demons that pursued her, but she couldn't give them much more information than they already knew.

"They just seem to have this 'join or die' attitude," she said solemnly, "And they keep calling me Ingrid for some reason."

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"Does that name mean anything to you, Trish?" Sam asked.

"Nope. Not a thing."

Upon glancing at the girl in the rear view mirror, Sam could have sworn he saw her eyes flicker with black. He swerved his head around to face her but she just gazed back tiredly with her unmistakable ice blues. Sam turned back into his seat questioning what he had just seen. Was he starting to lose his mind as the angel of death had warned? Or were they on a road trip with a demon in the backseat?


	3. The Plan

The clock pushed three in the morning, and Dean, too exhausted to drive, decided to stop at a motel. Trish had fallen asleep about an hour before, and Sam had been unnervingly quiet for most of the journey.

Dean pulled up outside the motel and turned in his seat.

"Hey, rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," he said reaching out to tap Trish on the knee. Trish groaned as she rose lazily.

"Where are we?" she muttered, examining her surroundings with sleepy eyes.

"Pit stop," Dean yawned, "I think we all need to refuel."

At the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam watching Trish intently in the rear view mirror. What was up with _him_?

The motel only had one suitable room left with two single beds and a fold out couch. Trish humbly offered to take the couch as she was the smallest of the trio.

"You sure, Trish?" Dean asked, "Me and Sammy usually rock-paper-scissors over this kind of thing."

"Dude, I would sleep on a bed of nails right now," Trish replied wearily.

"Point taken," Dean smiled.

Trish disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. At that point Sam grabbed Dean towards him, his features solemn.

"Dean, I think she's a demon," he said, deadpan.

Dean glanced at the locked bathroom door and then back at Sam with a sceptical expression on his face.

"Little Red Hipster Chick here?" he said doubtfully, thumbing towards the bathroom, "Really, Sam?"

"Look, I saw her eyes turn black in the car. If she's possessed we need to know about it."

Dean wasn't entirely convinced. He had the feeling that Sam's visions of Hell were starting to leak through. Trish seemed like a perfectly normal girl - run down, scared, vulnerable - though demons always did have a penchant for pretending to be perfectly normal people. Unpleasant memories of Meg flashed in his mind.

He gave Sam a curt nod and produced a hip flask of holy water, unscrewing the cap. He heard the bathroom door unlock and as Trish entered the room he splashed the contents of the flask over her face. Trish was mildly startled, spitting the water between her lips, but there was no burning or screaming, she just looked confused.

"What - the hell?" she cried, water dripping from her puzzled features.

"See?" Dean quipped to Sam, "Not a demon."

"You thought I was a _demon_?" Trish was clearly insulted.

"We…just had to be sure," Sam replied, his cheeks reddening a little, "We don't know your full story and thought it was because you were possessed."

Trish opened her mouth to argue but seemed to give up in the process.

"I'm going to bed," she concluded, making her way to the couch.

"Nice going, dumb ass," Dean muttered, slapping Sam on the arm.

"Excuse me for having a few trust issues," he shot back quietly.

"Just go to sleep, Sam," Dean replied, flopping onto a bed. He wasn't in the mood for arguing. He just needed rest, something he had not got enough of since before his last hunt. For now he didn't care about his brother or the girl. He just wanted sleep.

Dean figured he must have seriously blacked out. It was morning when he woke, even though his last conversation with Sam seemed only moments ago. He grunted, feeling uncomfortable after sleeping in his clothes and looked around the apartment. There were salt lines everywhere, on the doors and windows, and even a salt circle was drawn around the couch where Trish was still sleeping.

Just then, Sam entered through the front door, carrying brown paper carrier bags and a tray of takeaway coffees.

"Breakfast?" he suggested when he met Dean's gaze.

"Were you up all night?" Dean replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"No, I slept," said Sam, only half convincing, "I just don't sleep in as much you, lazy bones."

Trish was stirring. She sat up slightly, glancing from Dean to Sam and gave a resigned sigh as if suddenly remembering all the horrors she had been through up to now.

"Sleep ok?" Sam asked her.

"Like a log," she admitted, examining the salt circle around her.

"Ready to talk some more?"

"Sam!" Dean scolded, surprised at his brother's frankness.

"No, it's ok," Trish assured, "Just let me freshen up and you can ask me anything you want."

When Trish was ready she joined the brothers at the small fold out table where they were having breakfast. She definitely seemed a little perkier than yesterday, Dean noticed.

"I didn't know what you liked to eat so I just got a little bit of everything," said Sam, sliding one paper bag across the table to her.

She gave a small smile of gratitude and pulled out a blueberry muffin from the bag. The brothers exchanged glances as if asking who should start first.

"I understand that you have no idea why these demons are after you," Sam began, "And I know this is hard for you, but I'd like you to think back to when your family was killed. Did you see who did it?"

Trish, picking at the muffin, made an odd expression.

"I wasn't there when it happened," she said, as if she just remembered, "I sort of…woke up in a park two towns over one day. I took a bus back to Chicago but when I got home…there were cops everywhere…police tape around my house…blood splatters on the windows…" Her voice quivered with that last sentence.

"And you didn't go with the police? Make a statement or anything?" Dean inquired.

"No…I couldn't," she said, "They were all demons. All of them. And they wanted me. So I ran."

"How have you managed to survive for so long?"

She shrugged. "I guess demons aren't very smart."

Dean pretended to clear his throat to stifle a laugh .

"Trish," Sam pressed, "What do you remember before waking up in the park?"

"I uh…" her ice blue eyes flitted nervously from one brother to the other, "I was auditioning for a role."

_An actress, huh_, Dean mused.

"And then what happened?" Sam asked eagerly.

"I don't… I don't _remember_!" She was frustrated now. Her muffin, picked to pieces, lay in a mess on the table in front of her.

Dean could tell by Sam's expression that he was at an equal loss as he was. Possession had crossed his mind, though the hosts usually remembered everything that the demon had made them do. He considered witchcraft but it wouldn't explain why the demons put a bounty on her head.

"I have an idea," he said eventually, "Why don't we ask her fan base why she's suddenly the hot new thing around here?"

"You mean interrogation?" questioned Sam.

"We got the bait. Set a few devil's traps around her and boom! We just keep tearing those sons of bitches a new one until someone starts talking."

"Bait?" Trish exclaimed, terror in her eyes.

"You'll be safe," Dean promised earnestly. He grabbed some nearby motel stationary and drew the geometric sigil he was all too familiar with.

"See this?" he said, showing it to Trish, "This is a devil's trap. As soon as one of those demon suckers steps in this thing, they are completely powerless."

Trish shook her head, raking a hand through her blood red hair.

"This…is all so overwhelming," she said, the words running together rapidly.

"Trish, you'll be fine," Sam reassured, "We're not going to let anything bad happen to you."

"And what if something goes wrong?"

The brothers exchanged glances. They had always been lucky. Anytime a plan had fallen apart, they would make up the rest as they go and it usually worked out for them. It was not the best idea to tell this to Trish, however. The girl was out of her mind enough already.

"We always have a plan B," Dean lied through a smile.


	4. Too Late to Realise

The Winchesters chose an abandoned warehouse away from civilian populated areas to set the trap. They drew a sigil at both the front and back entrance, and made a circle of salt in the centre of the room where Trish would sit. Sam, picking up on Trish's anxiety, gave her a wan smile and clutched her hand tightly.

"Everything will be fine," he promised sincerely. He gave her a bag of salt and a bottle of holy water to protect herself if she needed it.

They waited. There was really no way to tell how long it would take for any demons to show up. Trish had told them that she was only ever found if she stayed in one place for too long.

The boys took turns, alternating between being the look-out and keeping Trish company. Hours had passed and everyone's nerves were beginning to fray.

Sam sat next to Trish as his brother patrolled the walkway above them.

"So you're an actress?" Sam enquired, after a long awkward moment of silence had passed between them.

Trish nodded with a tired smile.

"T.V. or film?"

"Theatre, actually."

"Well that's interesting," Sam was becoming intrigued, "So, what…plays? Musicals? Pantomime?"

"A little bit of everything," Trish admitted meekly.

"Must take a lot of guts to get up on stage in front of all those people."

Trish tilted her head and smiled almost dreamily at something in the distance. "Actually, I don't even see the audience," she said, "When I'm under those lights I'm in my element. The stage is my playground and I can let my imagination just…take over."

Sam initially had difficulty picturing this reserved, quiet girl performing on stage, though the way she spoke about it made him think a little differently. She didn't need confidence to perform in front of an audience, her passion fuelled her talent.

"I miss it," she added sadly, "I miss my old life."

"We can't give you your old life back," Sam said, hating the truth, "But we will promise to keep you safe."

"They took everything from me," Trish shook her head, her voice breaking.

Sam took her hand again, hoping he was being more comforting than patronizing.

"I know. That's what demons do. Dean and I, we've lost family and friends too. We know what it's like and we'd never wish it on anyone."

"At least you have each other," Trish said, gazing up at him with wide blue eyes.

Sam glanced up at his brother. Did he really have his back? Dean had gone through great lengths to bring Sam's soul back, but since then he'd been different: a little too concerned, a little too overprotective. He was acting like more of an overbearing parent than a brother…he was acting like their father. And that's why he couldn't talk to Dean about what was going on inside his head. He didn't want him to worry, didn't want him to do something stupid like make a deal with a demon. But not telling him about what he was going through made him feel so alone. Dean used to be the only person he could talk to about his problems, but now Sam's problems were just another burden on Dean, and that was the last thing that Sam wanted for his brother.

"Hey!" Dean called, suddenly alert, "They're coming."

Sam turned back to Trish. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, don't leave the circle," he commanded.

Trish nodded uneasily, her brow furrowed in anxiety.

Dean's rapid footsteps clanked down the metal ramp from the walkway and he joined Sam's side.

"How many are there?" Sam asked.

"You don't wanna know."

The back entrance burst open and three demons rushed in only to find themselves caught in the devil's trap. Dean laughed mockingly.

"Should have looked where you were walkin'," he teased.

One of the demons caught sight of Trish and the devil's trap at the other entrance. He gestured with one arm to something outside. Sam had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

There came the shattering of glass from above as demons dove through the windows above the walkway.

"Aw, crap!" Dean's mirth dissipated in an instant.

A blow from behind made Sam's world spin and before he could gather his bearings, he was pinned to the ground. The blast of Dean's shotgun sent the demon stammering back and Sam lunged forward, driving the knife into the creature's chest.

The warehouse was pandemonium. Sam's arms and back stung with the broken glass he landed on and tore his skin with every slash of the knife he made. The demons were relentless and the Winchesters were struggling.

Sam repeatedly flicked a glance over at Trish who was being circled by a demon unable to cross the salt. The poor girl was terrified and Sam cursed his brother for involving her in the plan.

A fist connected with Sam's jaw sending him spinning into a metal support. He was then pinned from behind, hair yanked back, the knife he held being forced toward his exposed neck. He tried to fight the grip that clutched his wrist, pushing back with all his might, but the demon was too strong, he knew he couldn't win. With as much force as he could muster he threw his head back, butting his assailant and causing it to lose some of its grasp. Sam spun back with his free arm, his elbow connecting with the demon's head and planted one boot against its chest sending it tumbling across the room.

"Sam!" Dean cried, "There's too many! We need to fall back!"

His words seemed distant in the tumult. But then something strange happened. As one, the demons turned their blackened eyes towards Trish, for at some point in the chaos the salt had become scuffed and her protective circle came unbroken.

"Trish!" Sam screamed, his heart plummeting. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and make a run for it, but he could only stand frozen, watching in fascinated horror as she dashed toward the exit, dodging and diving under and over her adversaries with all the speed and grace of a skilled gymnast. She disappeared through the large metal doors. The demons pursued causing a bottleneck on the devil's trap.

The Winchesters moved, tearing through the crowd of demons, Dean blasting the shotgun, Sam slashing the knife. One of the more powerful demons brought its fist down on the concrete, causing it to crack and undoing the effect of the trap.

Sam, in his overwhelming need to protect the girl, pushed vehemently through the crowd until he was out onto the weedy plane that surrounded the warehouse. The sun had just set and he struggled to see in the weak light. Where did she go?

"_If we happen to split up, we rendezvous back at the car," _Dean's words from earlier echoed in his head.

Sam ran towards the road where the car was parked. Demons were gaining and he punched and hacked anything that attempted to slow him down.

With the shotgun booming not too far behind him, Sam found himself a little in the clear. He reached the car, out of breath and clutching his chest as if it were about to explode. He had to wait for Dean who's run-and-gun strategy was slowing him down significantly. If only Sam had the keysto the Chevrolet Impala, he could grab the others and hightail it out of here.

Suddenly, something sprang out of nowhere, and quicker than instinct, Sam pinned the foe against the car…but he was too late to realise that he had just driven the knife into Trish's chest.


	5. Answers Beget Questions

Dean pounded the terrain, demons hot on his heels. The only thing fuelling him right now was his precious Impala zooming in his view.

_Stupid plan, Dean_, he scolded himself, _stupid, stupid plan!_

He had expected maybe half a dozen demons like before but not as many as this. How many were there this time? Fifteen? Twenty?

_You couldn't have called that shit, _he consoled himself. _You're alive, just stay alive._

Dean was a mere few feet from the car when his pace slowed to a halt. He blinked a few times, unsure what he was seeing. His kind and gentle baby brother had just stabbed the girl they were fighting to protect. It was like a movie still: Trish pinned against the car, Sam frozen and clutching the knife that protruded from her chest.

"Sam?" was the only syllable Dean could muster.

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean, his expression a mixture of horror and grief.

"It was an accident," he breathed.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. The demons were gaining.

"Get in the car now!" he commanded and he slid over the bumper to reach the driver's seat. He slammed the car door, a muddle of emotions swimming in his head as Sam climbed into the backseat with the dying girl in his arms. He jammed the key in the ignition and slammed on the gas, tearing down the road at high speed.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

He glanced in the rear view mirror as his grief stricken brother pulled the knife out of Trish's chest. There was so much blood and all Dean could think about at that moment was the upholstery being stained.

"What the hell happened back there, Sammy?" he barked.

"She just…came out of nowhere," Sam replied, his voice shuddering, "It was an accident. Oh god!"

Dean's jaw clenched, his knuckles bleaching around the steering wheel. Was this it, the beginning of Sam losing his mind? Was Dean going to be at the receiving end of the next 'accident'?

"We need to get her to a hospital," Sam said, urgency in his voice.

"It's too late for that, Sam."

"She's not dead yet! We can still save her!" Sam's emotions were breaking through.

"Are you listening to yourself, Sammy?" Dean yelled back, "Even if she survives god knows how many miles to the nearest hospital, do you honestly think there aren't gonna be demons waiting there? And even if there aren't, she's gonna be in intensive care long enough for them to catch up. She's already dead, Sam."

Watching his brother's crestfallen face made him hate himself for what he had just said.

"We'll cremate her body," Dean sighed, "We'll give her a respectful send off."

Trish bolted upright.

"Holy mother of sweet Jesus!" Dean cried, his heart almost burst with fright. He swerved to the side of the road and slammed the brakes. He hopped out of the car, ripped open the back door and dragged Trish out by the ankles, leaving her lying in the foliage.

"Dean!" Sam cried, but Dean ignored him and whipped out his pistol to the girl's head.

"What the hell are you?" he demanded, all trace of compassion for the girl had dissipated.

Sam rushed between Dean and Trish, pushing the pistol downward.

"Dean, just take it easy," Sam said, meeting his brother's eyes. Dean could tell that Sam was as shaken and confused as he was, but while Dean was a 'shoot first ask questions later' kind of guy, his brother, more often than not, was the opposite.

"No, I will _not_ take it easy," Dean retorted, snapping Sam's hand away, "We could have been killed back at that warehouse thanks to Li'l Red here. And then she gets freakin' _stabbed _in the _chest_-" he pushed past Sam and leaned forward, meeting eye level with the seated girl, "and is somehow right as freakin' rain!"

Dean shoved the gun back in her face.

"Now tell me just what the hell you are or I will go through great lengths to find out for myself."

Dean did not expect the girl to start unbuttoning her shirt, but before he could jump to any seedy conclusions he realised she was checking for injury. There was none. The girl's chest, apart from being blood stained, had not a single scratch. She shook her head in disbelief, but her demeanour suggested that she knew more than she was letting on. Dean needed to know. He lowered the gun and straightened his posture, regarding her coolly.

"Well it's obvious you don't need our help," he said, playing reverse psychology, "If you can take a hit like that, I'm sure you can handle a couple of demons by yourself. Come on, Sammy, let's hit the road." He began to saunter back to the car.

"Wait!" Trish called.

A smug smile traced Dean's lips and he turned to face her again. She stood, brushing the foliage from her jeans and glanced anxiously from one brother to the next.

"I haven't been one hundred percent honest with you," she said, tugging at her sleeves ashamedly, "I'm not entirely sure why the demons are after me… but I think it's something to do with the demon that's inside of me right now."

Dead silence.

Dean looked to his brother who seemed as equally puzzled and shocked as he was.

"Wait, Trish, are you saying you're possessed?" Sam asked cautiously.

"No!" she insisted, indignantly, "At least not like the rest of them. She doesn't control me, she just…sits there."

"Who?"

"Ingrid," Dean answered because the pieces where somewhat falling into place, "You said the demons kept calling you Ingrid because it's not you they're after, it's her."

"But why?" Sam asked, "That doesn't make any sense?"

"Maybe Ingrid is a fugitive from downstairs. Maybe she's on the run."

"And a meat suit was the best hiding place she could come up with?"

"Ruby's knife couldn't kill Trish and it sure as hell couldn't kill Ingrid either. This isn't just a run-of-the-mill demon possession." He turned to Trish. "So what the hell makes your body so special?"

Trish threw her arms up as a gesture of her own ignorance.

"Trish," Sam said kindly, "Why didn't you tell us any of this before?"

"Because I didn't _understand_!" she sighed, exasperated, "I thought I was going mad when I first... _felt _Ingrid. It's like…there's emotions there that aren't my own. I didn't know what exactly was going on with me until I met you guys. I was afraid to tell you because… well you don't have much contempt for demons or the poor bastards they possess."

"What, you were afraid we were gonna gank you?" Dean snorted.

Trish inhaled a deep breath and looked at him sadly.

"I need help," she said, "I don't want to die. I just want this _thing _out of me."

Dean admitted that he had trust issues, especially when it came to demons. Trish's case was unusual and the fact that he wasn't entirely sure what he was dealing with made it harder for him to want to jump in, guns blazing. But at the end of the day, a case is a case, and he'd be a piss poor hunter if he didn't take it.

"I don't work with demons," he said, "But I'll make and exception. And I'm gonna lay down one condition and you better listen up because I'm only gonna say this once."

Trish nodded.

"As soon as Ingrid rears her ugly head, I'm gonna gank the bitch, whether she's in you or not."

Trish nodded again in agreement. It was evident she wasn't happy with Dean, but right now she had no one else to turn to.

"So…" Sam chimed in awkwardly, "Anybody have any ideas where to start with this?"

There was a pause.

It was Trish who replied, "Either of you guys know what a Crowley is?"


	6. Ingrid

_**Author's note: Well this turned out waaaay longer than I thought it would. I don't have much time to really write so my narrative style has been sacrificed quite a bit. I kinda like this idea though. What does everyone think?**_

Trish listened to Sam and Dean argue over whether or not they should summon Crowley who happened to be a demon and, as she was so informed, the king of Hell. She was officially overwhelmed to the point where nothing surprised her anymore. If Dean says the king of Hell has a bounty on her head then she would take it upon herself to not deny any falsity of that statement. Four months ago she would have seriously questioned Dean's sanity. She stopped arguing with herself over whether all this was reality or some sort of coma dream. She came to realise that she couldn't afford to think like that anymore. She had to move on, she had to end this. Running into the Winchesters was her first ray of hope since before all of this began. Even though they had some issues (and those boys had some serious issues), they were all she had in the world right now.

When the brothers had eventually stopped bickering, Sam regarded Trish for a moment from across the backseat.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. Trish gave him a sidelong glance.

"For what?" she chuckled softly.

"Just…everything. But mostly for stabbing you in the chest. I feel…just terrible."

Trish placed a hand over the area where she had been stabbed. The pain of the knife penetrating her breastbone was still fresh in her mind.

"It's ok," she replied half-heartedly.

"It's not ok," Sam rebutted, "If not for that demon inside you, you'd be dead."

She could see that Sam was guilt ridden. Even though the incident had now made her a little wary of him, she knew it was an accident and she wanted Sam to forgive himself for it.

"If not for the demon, I'd never have met you, let alone get stabbed," she said.

The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Touché," he replied.

The conversation paused. Trish was never very good at small talk. She had been told many times that she was "very shy for an actress" but she never really understood that. She liked acting and felt that how she was around other people was negligible. After all, one didn't need to be a social butterfly to be a writer or a chef or a builder. Nothing else mattered as long as you had enough confidence in what you were doing.

"That…thing you did…back at the warehouse," Sam interrupted her thoughts.

Trish shook her head, unsure what he was talking about.

"When you ran," he seemed to struggle, "The way you moved…I've never seen anything like that."

Trish could feel her cheeks burn.

"I...uh…I like to dance," she said, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

"Really?" Sam laughed softly, "That's kinda cool."

And there it was. Trish was no stranger to the reactions she received when explaining her profession. It was always "hey cool, that must be awesome!", or something along those lines. It always seemed a little patronizing.

"I think Ingrid helped that time though," she added, her voice small in case Dean overheard.

"What do you mean?"

"I think she's protecting me…or herself…maybe both us," Trish inhaled a shuddering sigh, "But I've noticed that I'm getting better at running. I'm getting faster and swifter. And I've seen what those other demons can do. Ingrid can't control me, but I do think I'm developing her…powers… Is that possible?" Trish had no idea what was considered "normal" in the Winchesters' world but it was disheartening to see the concern on Sam's face.

"I don't know, Trish," he replied, "It doesn't sound like anything we've come across before."

"Oh," was all she could say, the trepidation of the unknown was settling in all over again. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she could feel Ingrid's thoughts, and at that moment the demon happened to be internally mocking everyone in the car.

Trish had lost track of time, but it was well into the night by the time they reached Bobby's house. It was a grand abode, though it was in desperate need of some TLC and the preceding scrap yard did little in the way of providing any touch of homeliness. She had heard the boys talk of "uncle" Bobby and reckoned this was something of a family home for them. Out of respect, she felt it best to keep her opinions to herself.

The interior was dingy and smelled of whiskey and must. Books, some of which looked centuries old, sat in piles on almost every surface and shelf. A stout, scruffy looking man wearing a chequered shirt and baseball cap appeared from the far room and stared at the trio for a moment.

"Aw, heck!" he grumbled, "Which one of you idjits knocked up this poor girl?"

"I'm not pregnant!" Trish piped indignantly, and then a little uncertainly to Dean, "I'm not pregnant, right?"

"No, no," Dean scoffed and meeting the man's sceptical glare firmly reiterated, "_No!_"

"We tried to get in touch with you Bobby," Sam said, "But when we weren't…distracted, you seemed to be unavailable."

"Is this about the case?" Bobby queried, nodding towards Trish.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"You might want to sit down for this one, Bobby," Dean said, grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

The brothers explained everything that had happened, including what they knew about Trish. They swapped a few different theories pertaining to the actual cause of Trish's condition but no one could draw any final conclusions.

"It doesn't make sense," Bobby groused, "The girl is like a walkin', talkin' devil's trap. I ain't never known anyone to be incubatin' a demon without goin' black-eyed."

"That's what we said," Dean replied, slightly exasperated, "We figured this Ingrid character has done something against "King Crowley's" command. Now, I don't give a crap what's going on down in Hell, but this demon is putting this girl in danger, as well as hundreds of other people who are being possessed because of her."

"Either of you idjits consider exorcising the bitch?"

"The knife didn't work on her, neither did holy water," said Sam, "What's to say an exorcism will?"

"Well, it's worth a shot ain't it?"

Trish was not happy about being tied to a chair. Sam said it was a precaution, but it made her feel like a captive. Dean proceeded to read a bunch of gibberish from a book that Trish was unable to determine. Latin, perhaps?

Nothing happened.  
Dean spoke the last few lines with a little uncertainty and shrugged at the other two hunters by the end.

"Did it work?" asked Bobby.

"She's still there," Trish replied wearily, "And she's laughing at you."

She was losing faith in her so-called protectors. They didn't seem to have a clue what they were doing.

Then Dean snapped his fingers, his eyes lit up as if an idea had just punched him in the back of the head.

"Cas!" he said, a little proud of himself, "There's nothing that can gank a demon better than an angel can."

"Angel?" laughed Trish incredulously, "And to think I used to be an atheist."

"Believe us when we say that angels and demons are just the tip of the iceberg," Sam said grimly, untying her bonds from the chair.

"Oh, Castiel!" Dean called in exaggerated prayer, "Get your winged butt down here, you've got some smiting to do."

"What is it, Dean?"

Literally out of nowhere, a man in a beige trench coat appeared in the room. Physically, he just looked like a regular person with tousled black hair and piercing blue eyes, but there was something about him that Trish couldn't quite put her finger on. She couldn't explain it but he just seemed so…intimidating… and Ingrid did not like him one bit.

"Go forth and smite yon demon!" Dean declared, staying in character.

"Are you mocking me?" the angel replied completely deadpan.

Dean cleared his throat, a little embarrassed.

"Just help us out here," he said, thumbing in Trish's direction.

Trish stood as the angel approached her. She couldn't understand why her heart began race. Terror and excitement washed over her all at once like the feelings of a new found love. Was this the effect angels normally had on people?

Trish inhaled sharply as Castiel placed a warm palm in her forehead. The moment seemed like a lifetime, but when the angel did break away he seemed deeply concerned.

"I don't understand," he said, cupping her chin, "There is definitely a demon in you, I can see her. Why can't I reach her?"

"You got any theories, Cas?" said Dean, "'cause we tried every trick in the book and that demon ain't budgin'. How is Trish's body acting like a gank-proof shield?"

"You think Crowley would know?" Sam asked.

"We are _not _summoning Crowley," Dean snapped, "He has enough of a one-up on us as it is already."

"I'm just saying, Dean, he probably has more clue what's going on than any of us. He might even take Ingrid with him back to Hell if that's possible."

"I'm with Sam on this one," chimed Bobby, "I hate the sucker as much as the rest of y'all but we're all out of ideas here."

"Fine," Dean resigned.

Trish watched with fascination as the hunters set up the summoning ritual. It was all so bizarre how there was this whole other world that she never new existed. It felt as though she had slipped into an alternate reality where the paranormal was considered…well…normal.

Sam threw a lit match into the bowl of ingredients before him and at that moment a man appeared in the centre of the devil's trap that had been drawn during the ritual.

"Evenin' chaps," he said, his British accent like soft gravel, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Trish warily eyed the bloodied apron he was wearing, and the foreign looking instrument in his hand. Crowley caught her gaze and studied her for a moment with some amusement.

"Ingrid?" he chuckled, "Is that you? What are you doing in there?"

Trish could sense that Ingrid recognised him. There was history between the two demons.

"Ingrid says hi," Trish quipped.

"Does she?" Crowley mused. He seemed cagey of Ingrid's position. "Any chance we could have a little chat?"

Ingrid wanted to speak to Crowley. Trish wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but she knew Ingrid couldn't possibly be a danger to anyone while locked in her body. She gave her permission to speak through her this once. Trish's blue eyes were swallowed by black and a smile crept across her face.

The Winchesters reacted instantly but Ingrid held up one hand and said, "Relax. Trish still has her hands on the control panel. I'm just speaking over the intercom." She then turned to Crowley. "Hoo boy, have you been a pain in my ass these past few months!"

"As have you," Crowley retorted, "You've been a very naughty girl, Ingrid. I mean, mutiny? Really?"

"Crowley, you couldn't run a dimension if it consisted of just you and a boxed up angel."

"My subjects would disagree. Hope they haven't roughed you up too much."

"This is a very touching reunion," Dean interrupted, "But can you get to the part where you drag Ingrid's ass back to Hell?"

"I can't," Crowley replied through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean you _can't_?"

Ingrid approached Dean and clasped his chin tightly.

"Because he hasn't got the juice, silly," she sang softly, a wide grin painting her face. She patted his cheek in a patronizing manner and strolled back towards Crowley. "Ya see, I'm a higher evolved form of demon," she continued as she stepped in and out of the devil's trap, "While you, dear Crowley, are hindered by a bit graffiti, I am next to unstoppable. I will have Hell and Purgatory, and Heaven and Earth and whatever's in between. And you will bow before me like it was always meant to be. You took the throne away from me and I will take it back."

Crowley chuckled derisively.

"You're pathetic," he spat, "You can't even control your own meat suit."

"Oh don't you worry," Ingrid replied, "I'm just working out the kinks."

"What kinks?" Dean demanded, irately, "What are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Well, the antichrist, you big silly."

Everyone was stunned to silence and Ingrid laughed heartily.

"The antichrist is gone," the angel spoke, "You'll never find him."

"No, not _that _guy," Ingrid snorted, and then to Crowley "Who's hair-brained idea was it to raise the antichrist amongst humans anyway? They're so full of useless emotions like love and compassion and empathy. It was never gonna work. No, I'm talking about _me_. That's why I'm here. I've _bound _myself with this human, and once the process is complete, when we are one we will be the most powerful entity in this entire universe."

Trish screamed at Ingrid inside her head. She knew she was being used for some ultimate purpose but this was beyond anything she had ever imagined.

"Oh, hush!" Ingrid scolded her, "You don't have a say in the matter. Besides, you might actually enjoy being an all powerful creature."

"Ingrid, sweetheart," Crowley cooed, "I know we've had our differences, but if you would just drop this antichrist nonsense, I'm sure I could give you a promising position in my kingdom."

Ingrid laughed again and Crowley scowled at her.

"I'm not an idiot, Crowley," she mocked, "Besides the fact that you double-crossed me before, why the hell would I want to give up so much power?"

"You're making a mistake, darling."

"Trust me, the next time I see you, you better be on your knees," Ingrid purred, "That is, if you want any mercy from me."

With that, Ingrid retreated, Trish's eyes cleared and she shook her head a few times, trying to readjust to her position. She glanced from Crowley to the others and couldn't help but feel the condemnation from their stares.

"This is not good," Castiel said.

"Looks like you lot have your work cut out for you," said Crowley, "I'd get cracking right away if I were you." The demon vanished.

"The frickin' antichrist?" cried Dean, "Last time we came across one of those it turned Cas into a Ken doll!"

Trish watched as the hunters argued amongst themselves. Dean and Bobby were clearly panicking while Sam tried to reassure them that they could deal with it like they always did.

"Um…excuse me," Trish muttered, trying to get someone's attention.

The argument waged on.

"Hello?"

Castiel threatened to put the irate Dean to sleep.

"Hey!" she yelled.

All eyes fell on her. She blushed deeply, feeling nervous about the attention.

"I have an idea," she said in a small voice.


	7. Voces Mysticae

_**Author's note: Yeah it's a little short but I hope you guys like it. Let me know what you think of the story so far =)**_

Dean was forced to remind himself that what was happening to Trish wasn't her fault. Nevertheless, there was a demon inside her and he gave her the same regard as any poor bastard unlucky enough to be possessed. Even though Trish had insisted she was in control of her own body, he wondered just how much of her was Trish and how much was Ingrid. In other words, he didn't trust the person he was talking to. The most unnerving part was that she couldn't be killed, at least not by conventional means. Dean felt vulnerable in her presence and he worried for everyone's safety.

"I think I know what's happening," Trish said, glancing nervously from one person to the next, "I think Ingrid wants us to be bound together, as in one entity. From the beginning we were two entities but in one body. Lately, I'm starting to _feel _her more…I mean it's mostly just impressions about what she's thinking but…she's gradually becoming more clear to me each day."

"That's not a good thing, Red," Dean replied.

"No, it is!" she insisted, "I have some of her memory. When Crowley appeared, I picked up on the fact that they knew each other, that they had history. I think if we wait long enough, when I can read her more clearly, I'll be able to tell what she did to bind herself to me and how to undo it."

Dean groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ok, firstly, you're insane," he said, "Secondly, how much of you is going to be left before Ingrid - or the antichrist - starts to "bind" with you or whatever? Are you gonna be in control long enough to see Ingrid's memories?"

"Well I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

Before Dean could retaliate, Sam intervened, "Is there anything you're picking up from Ingrid right now? Anything at all that could set us in the right direction?"

_Reliable old Sam_, Dean thought to himself, _Taking the good-cop route as usual._

"Um…" Trish struggled, raking her hair, "Just bits and pieces really. Nothing I can make any coherent sense of. Um…do the words "_voces mysticae_" mean anything to you?"

"The language of demons," piped Castiel, who had been solemnly standing apart from the group.

Dean glanced at the angel, cocking an eyebrow.

"Come again?" he said.

"Ingrid used a binding spell," said Cas, approaching Trish with fascination in his eyes.

"What, like witchcraft?" Dean snorted, "Sounds a little small-time for the antichrist if you ask me."

"Performed by mortals it is considered witchcraft," Cas turned to Dean, "Performed by demons, it's so much more powerful."

"Of course it is," Dean sighed, "But how does Trish have control over her own body if the demon controlled her long enough to cast the spell?"

"Based on assumption and the fact that these particular spells call for utmost specificity, I'd say that the two entities need to be bound thoroughly, molecule by molecule. That can only happen if they start as separate beings from each other."

"But spells can be broken, right?" _Throw me a bone here, Cas_, Dean thought desperately.

"There are three artefacts involved in the ritual," Castiel spoke impassively, "A tablet on which the spell itself written in _voces mysticae _is inscribed, a product from the caster and one from the person on which the spell is cast upon." Castiel stood next to Trish and she flinched as he held a up a lock of her hair. Trish's hair was entirely of uniform length apart from the tress that Castiel clutched.

"I'm guessing Ingrid's blood and Trish's hair," he concluded, "The items need to be destroyed before the spell is complete. However, the spell requires that the caster bury the items in the ground. They could be anywhere."

Dean buried his face in his hands. Why did he always have to deal with the apocalypses and the antichrists? Life was so much simpler when it was just him and Sam hunting wendigos and spiteful spirits. Did any other hunters have to deal with this kind of shit? How many of them have literally been to Hell and back because of the job?

"Well we'll just head back to Illinois," said Trish, "Retrace my footsteps. Something's bound to trigger a memory or two." She then glared at Dean as if daring him to challenge her idea.

"Great," said Sam, ever optimistic, "We'll hit the road first thing in the morning. We should start in Chicago and make our way down state. We could probably start at Trish's last memory which was at the place she auditioned."

"Um…sure," she replied half-heartedly.

Dean knew that this wasn't going to be easy for the girl and he was torn between distrusting her and having sympathy for her.

"Getting into Chicago with her isn't going to be easy considering she's down as a missing person," said Dean.

"I know Chicago like the back of my hand," replied Trish, "I'll get us around unnoticed."

"I think we'll be somewhat noticeable if we have a bunch of demons on our ass again."

"I don't think they'll be a problem," Trish said with a shake of her head, "Ingrid knows that Crowley is afraid of her. Now that she has given away her plan, he knows there's nothing he can do to stop her."

"You seem so sure of yourself," Dean commented sceptically.

Trish narrowed her bright blue eyes at him.

"Well you're just going to have to trust me," she murmured, a hint of spite in her voice.


	8. Home Sweet Home

It was a long trip back to Chicago. Sam, though he wouldn't admit it, was feeling antsy about travelling with Trish. His brother was supposed to be the worrier. Sam was supposed to be the one to calm him - that was how their relationship worked - but having an antichrist vessel in the back seat of the Impala was less than reassuring for both of them. He just hoped that they could break the spell in time.

Upon arriving in Chicago, they stopped for food at a shopping outlet. Sam purchased a hoody for Trish to wear as a disguise while Dean bought hotdogs and soft drinks for everyone.

"Nutritional as ever I see," Sam commented on Dean's choice of cuisine. Dean mimicked him childishly.

"Just eat your damn food," he grumbled.

"Not to knock your choice in fashion," piped Trish, "But this hoody is a little too big for me." The plain navy sweater that Sam had picked out was at least two sizes too big for Trish. It disguised her body shape, and the hood covered most of her face.

"It's perfect," said Sam, "No one will recognize you."

"I look ridiculous," she sighed, examining her reflection in a shop window.

"You look…" and before Sam could say something stupid like 'beautiful' he caught himself and concluded with, "fine."

They parked across the road from the theatre Trish had auditioned in. The street was quiet but the brothers kept an eye out for squad cars nonetheless.

"I don't feel comfortable sitting in one spot for too long," said Dean agitatedly, "Please tell me you hear a few bells ringing."

"Not really," Trish sighed, "I don't think I can trigger anything sitting here."

"Well, you're not leaving the car," Dean commanded, "We can't risk you getting-hey!"

Trish had hopped out of the backseat mid-sentence and was jogging toward the theatre.

"God dammit!"

"I got this," Sam intervened, sliding out of the car and pursuing the girl. He caught up with Trish who had paused at the entrance. She examined the plaster columns that were moulded decoratively either side of the red double doors. Her expression was curious.

"Are you getting anything?" Sam asked cautiously.

Trish turned her back toward the building and stepped forward a few paces until she reached the curb. She then looked from left to right across the street.

"I took a bus," she said and then turned to Sam, "After the audition I took a bus and went straight home." Her eyes glistened and Sam's jaw clenched. He knew going back to the house could trigger something Trish didn't want to remember.

"Trish," he spoke softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No, I can do this," she snapped, shrugging his hand away, "I have to."

"Are you sure you-"

"Yes! Let's go." She tried to sound defiant but Sam detected a sadness in her voice. He followed her back to the car sighing inwardly.

Trish's house was at the back of a posh estate on the outskirts of town. It was a grand white bungalow with a floral garden and terracotta tiled porch. Police tape surrounded it's perimeter. Sam glanced across the road and noticed one of the neighbours eyeing the car suspiciously.

"Is there a way we can get in there without being noticed?" he asked.

Trish from the depths of her hood nodded and gave directions back out of the estate so that they were parked directly behind her house. The estate was guarded by a long stretch of trees that overlooked a main road.

"I used to sneak out this way," she said, "Through those trees will lead directly to my back yard."

"Ok," said Sam, "I'll go with Trish. Dean, you should stay here and keep an eye out. If it looks like there's trouble coming you ring me or honk the horn or do what ever it is you need to do."

Dean nodded in acquiescence.

"Don't be long," he said.

Sam followed Trish through the trees, glancing over his shoulder in paranoia. Even though he was used to being places he shouldn't be, he preferred playing an FBI agent to breaking and entering any day. Sam was lead through a short wooded area that stopped at a short concrete wall. Beyond was Trish's back yard.

"This way," she said hopping the wall and moving quickly across the grass. Sam followed her to the back door of her house. Trish lifted a nearby flower pot and produced a key which opened the door. Sam was instantly hit with the familiar smell of stale blood. The authorities seemed not to have cleaned the place up yet which meant they were still investigating the house as a crime scene. He glanced down at Trish who appeared to be examining her surroundings.

"Are you ok?" he asked solemnly.

"I'm not getting anything yet," Trish replied, avoiding the question either intentionally or not, "But I did come through the front door if I recall. I'll need a moment."

The house was bigger than it looked from the outside. The modern décor spoke of a well-to-do middle class family. Sam examined the family portraits that hung on the cream painted walls. Trish, with her normal light brown hair and lack of make-up, seemed to be the youngest of her three siblings - two brothers and one sister. She shared a striking resemblance with the older woman in the photo whom Sam assumed to be the mother. A sorrow gripped his chest for the girl's loss. He had seen so many families torn apart because of demons, his own included. He had thought that he would have been used to it by now but the truth was that it never got any better.

"They were all in the dining room," came Trish's voice from beyond the hallway. Sam caught up with her where she lingered in the doorway of the dining area. There was dried blood everywhere. Sam counted eight chalk outlines. Whatever happened here was nothing but sheer carnage.

"My uncle and his wife visited us from Australia," Trish spoke with a tremble in her voice, "We were celebrating. It was the first time I met my new cousin." And then her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as they darted around the room. She was remembering.

"No," she gasped with a glance of each chalk outline, "No!" Her eyes fell upon a blood stained infant's rocker and she sunk to her knees in despair.

"The baby!" she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body shuddering with uncontrollable sobs. "She made me do this!" she cried, "She made me slaughter them all!"

Right about now was the time that Sam wished he didn't have a soul. His soulless version would have been logical about dealing with this situation, but instead all he could do was feel Trish's pain. He crouched to her level and took her by the shoulders.

"Trish," he spoke but she shook her head, not wanting to hear it. "Trish, listen to me. You didn't do this. This is not your fault."

"My family died thinking I killed them," she said through broken sobs.

"Trish, I know this is hard for you," Sam held her face between his hands, "And I know this is gonna sound harsh, but I need you to pull it together." Trish's features twisted in disgust and she tried to pull away from him.

"No, just hear me out," Sam insisted, pulling her back towards him, "Ingrid killed your family and she has to be stopped before she kills again. I need you to remain focused so that Ingrid gets the punishment she deserves. Only you can stop her."

"What if I don't want to?" Trish cried, "Let the world end, I have nothing to live for anymore."

"Trish," Sam spoke earnestly, "I know what you're going through." He sighed, remembering what he did to Dean when he was without a soul. "I too have done terrible things when I…when I wasn't myself. And I haven't had a chance to fully deal with it because my priorities involve saving people. It's hard, but when I think about what I have to do that's all that matters to me in the end."

Trish had gone silent, her body still trembling with anguish.

"Look," he said, wiping tears from her cheeks, "I promise that when this is all over, I'll give you all the time you need to grieve. And I will be your shoulder to cry on. I will help you through this."

"Will you cry with me?" she sniffed.

"What?"

"For all the stuff that you did."

"Oh." Sam was never really given a chance to properly reflect all the bad choices he made over the year. Dean dismissed his feelings of guilt saying that it wasn't really him who made those choices. Sam wasn't entirely convinced. "Sure," he said eventually. He frowned as he noticed a car horn beeping somewhere in the distance. "Is that the Impala?" he said. He stood and made his way to the window, only to notice two squad cars pulling up outside the front yard.

"Crap," said Sam.


End file.
